Ordinary Human
by AndSoIWrite
Summary: Sam's in a downward spiral but this time his demons aren't of the supernatural nature. Dean isn't sure how to help his brother with things that can't be banished by bullets and holy water, but he sure as hell is going to try.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Okay, here's my next multi-chapter fic! It's written in the same style as As Brothers Will Stand so for those of you that liked that one...here you go. It picks up from When the Levee Breaks, as if Cas had never opened the panic room door and let Sam out. However, it is now several years into the future. More details on that later. The Sarah in this fic is the Sarah from the show.

Warnings: These fic does deal with **drug addiction and discussions about suicide. **Please take note that none of the characters are suicidal but the topic does get brought up. If this needs to be bumped to an M rating later on, it will be, but right now, I don't think anything is going to get too graphic.

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><p><strong>Today I felt a switch in my vein,<strong>  
><strong>Today I made them all afraid.<strong>  
><strong>Used to be a shadow,<strong>  
><strong>Now a shadow scream my name.<strong>  
><strong>"Ordinary Human" -OneRepublic<strong>

The security guard confiscated Dean's keys and his wallet and then questioned him for five minutes about why he kept a penknife hidden in his boot.

"Look, I didn't know I was going to be coming here," he said, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean anything by it." The guard rolled his eyes because he saw oblivious idiots like the guy in front of him every day, but eventually stuck Dean's accessories in a row of lockers and then gave Dean a ticket instead of the key.

"Okay, you're good," the guard said. He had a red moustache that trembled when he spoke and his breath smelled like rancid meat. Dean tried to give a smile but failed.

"Thanks," he said, shoving his feet back in his shoes and doing up the laces. "Uh, this is my first time here…"

"Just follow the hall and you'll come to a desk. You here to visit someone?" Dean nodded.

"My brother."

"Good luck, man. It ain't pretty in there. I don't envy you."

"Thanks," Dean muttered. Unlike the rest of the hospital, the Psych Ward was quiet with no bustling nurses, at least not in the entryway. The silence made Dean uneasy as he started down the hallway. There was only a white linoleum floor and no pictures on the beige walls and he couldn't help but wonder why they would put crazy people in such a depressing place.

"The front desk sat beside a pair of double doors that wore a sign declaring 'AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' in red block letters.

"Can I help you?" The bubblegum pink scrubs didn't match the nurse's severe expression. She looked like she'd been sitting behind the desk for the last ten years, like a dragon guarding her hoard of treasure.

"Hi, I'm Dean Winchester. My brother is here."

"What's his name?" she asked, turning automatically to the computer.

"Sam Winchester." Dean rubbed the back of his neck as she typed fiercely then made a couple clicks.

"There's a Sam Winchester that was brought in yesterday."

"That's him."

"Well, he's allowed visitors. Are you on the list?"

"What list?" She sighed and pointed to a list of rules taped to the desk. NO WEAPONS was the first one that he saw; that explained why the guard had given him such a problem about the knife. "Each patient has a list of approved visitors. Only they can add and remove names. Are you on your brother's list?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted, scanning over the rest of the rules (NO OUTSIDE FOOD, NO MONEY, NO CELLPHONES, NO UPSETTING NEWS TO BE DELIVERED WITHOUT DOCTOR PRESENT). "I should be though."

"Dean, you said?" She turned back to the computer and pulled up a new screen. "No, sorry. There's no one on Sam Winchester's list."

"I'm his brother," Dean said unnecessarily. "I have to be on the list. He would want me here, trust me." Her expression softened just a little at his obvious confusion.

"Unlike other parts of the hospital, our patients make a list of people that might be beneficial toward their health. Your brother hasn't named anyone yet so we can't let you in there without his permission. You might upset him and he's in a very fragile place right now." She was clearly repeated something she had learned from a typed transcript.

"I know," Dean said. "Which is why I have to be with him."

"Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry, I can't let you back there."

"It must be a mistake then," Dean insisted. "I practically raised the kid. He wouldn't refuse to see me. Maybe he just doesn't know I'm here. I live a ways out so he might not to have thought to put me on the list or whatever."

"I still can't help you. But it sounds like you love your brother very much. If you give me your cell number, I can give you a call if he says anything about adding you." Dean took a long steadying breath and put on his most charming smile, the one that could get a waitress out of her apron faster than he could take a shot. Which was pretty damn fast.

"Look," he said, leaning against the counter as if to tell her a secret. "I know you guys have your rules and I get that, I do. But is there any way you could maybe just ask Sam?"

"I'm not sure…" she said. "That's against protocol." For all her stodginess, she was losing her battle against Dean Winchester's natural charisma. "We aren't supposed to interfere with set schedules."

"All you have to do is ask him," Dean cajoled, leaning an inch closer. "If he says no, I promise I'll leave." His grin broadened. "Scout's honor."

In the next second, she was on the phone and a minute later another nurse was coming through the double doors.

"Harriet, could you please tell Sam Winchester that his brother Dean is here. See if Sam wants him on the list?"

Harriet swiped a key attached to her scrubs to get back through the doors and disappeared without saying a word.

Dean took the next few minutes to decompress. If he was going to be allowed to see Sam, then he had to look calm. Which wasn't exactly easy to do after the past twenty-four hours. He'd been working a skinwalker case in Mississippi when Sarah had called from the hospital. It was a lucky coincidence that he'd forgotten to turn his phone off like usual or else he wouldn't have even fielded the call.

His wife of seven years had found Sam in the basement after picking their daughter up from school. He was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound and she'd had no choice but to call an ambulance.

"He's using again," Sarah had told Dean. He'd been wiping blood off the Impala with a spare rag but froze at her words, every inch of his body tensing at the three words. There were enough to stop his heart, to make his toes curl in fear and ultimate disappointment.

"Are you sure?" Dean was careful not to let his words waver, not to let his swelling emotions creep into his tone.

"I'm at the hospital," Sarah said. "He overdosed." The 'O' word. The one that was almost taboo in an addict's world and therefore the world of his family. Overdosing didn't exist, he didn't happen to the people you knew and loved.

Until it did.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, slamming the driver door of the Impala as he started her up.

"He hit his head and got a couple stitches but they say he'll be fine on that end."

"I'm on my way."

"Dean…" There was something she wasn't telling him, he could hear the hesitation before and after his name, stretching like the physical difference between them.

"They're holding him for forty-eight hours."

"I thought you said his head wasn't that bad."

"Not for his head," she said quietly, almost whispering. "They're holding him in the Psychiatric Ward."

It was a seventeen hour drive from Mississippi to Colorado where Sam and Sarah lived. Seventeen straight hours in the car and then he'd had to wait until two that afternoon before the guard would let him through because visiting hours didn't start until then.

"Mr. Winchester?" He turned back to the doors, rubbing his thumb along his jaw, a nervous habit he'd picked up from his father when he was still a teenager. Harriet had come back and was holding out a visitor badge to him; he took it and clipped it to his shirt pocket, brushing at the remaining food crumbs littering his collar.

There was more activity beyond the mysterious double doors. They walked into an open space, the focal point immediately making itself known as the nurses' station in the center where no fewer than five nurses were seated. Rooms were situated around it in a circle, some open to reveal bedrooms, some closed off.

"Your brother is in his room," Harriet said, glancing back at Dean who was taking everything in. "He's in a room by himself at the moment but please keep the door open and I'll be standing just outside if you need anything." Dean wasn't sure how someone who looked like she ate air for breakfast was going to help him out with Sam but he thanked her anyway.

She swiped her key again and the door in front of them opened and Dean realized they had Sam locked inside. With bile gathering in the back of his throat, Dean walked in, not sure at all what to expect.

It wasn't set up like a regular hospital room but a bedroom with a chest of drawers in one corner, an armchair in the other. A twin bed was set up in the middle of the room and sprawled across it was Sam.

His brother looked rough. There were bruises underneath his eyes, and the left one was swollen where the cut above his eyebrow was bandaged. His hair was stringy and when he glanced up at the door opening, Dean's heart dropped at the clouded gaze Sam turned on him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, bud, it's me."

"They said you were here." Each word was costing Sam effort, Dean could see him focusing on pushing each one out, stringing them together like beads on a necklace. "Wanted to see me."

"They got you on something?" Dean asked, pulling up the one folding chair in the room. Sam's back was up against the headboard, his hands folded in his lap, legs stretched out, almost hanging off the end of the bed. He was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of thin hospital pants.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I yelled." His voice grew smaller at the confession, turning contrite as if he were a child again. "Dean, I yelled." That's when Dean noticed the whiteboard hanging by the door. _Sam Winchester. 6'4". 215 pounds. Opiate Overdose. Violence Tendencies._

Was this the right Sam? Violent Tendencies? The guy who liked to hug people at the bar when he'd had too much to drink?

"Sammy, did you hit someone?" Dean asked, knowing they wouldn't have sedated him for simply yelling. Sam ducked his head and his fingers began twisting together in his lap, his anxiety palpable even through his lack of energy.

"I didn't mean it," he said to his chest. "Dean, I didn't mean to."

"Okay," Dean said, leaning back and exhaling a deep sigh. This was a lot worse than he had thought. He hadn't visited in six months – not since Christmas – but the last time he was in Colorado, Sam had finally seemed normal again. Dean had thought they were over this.

"Sam, let me see your head." Ever obliging to his older brother, Sam turned toward Dean and let Dean peel back the bandage to reveal an angry cut with four stitches. "Does it hurt?"

"Nope," Sam said. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"They took away my pills."

"I know."

"Will you get them back for me? Please?"

"I don't think so," Dean said, watching Sam's eyes widen. His sat up, fighting the tranquilizer he'd obviously been given too much of. There was no way Sam would be this loose-tongued if he wasn't half asleep. Dean had to wonder what else they'd given him.

"I need them," Sam said, reaching for Dean's hand. Dean gave it to him and was startled to find his brother's hands felt like the inside of a freezer.

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean said, unfolding the blanket from the foot of his bed and spreading it out over his brother. "You're freezing."

"I need them," Sam repeated. "There's a doctor here. Will you find him and tell him?"

"Sure," Dean lied. "Hey, how come you haven't put Sarah on your visitor list?"

Sam actually shrunk back as if Dean had slapped him, wrenching his hand from Dean's grasp where he'd been trying to warm it up.

"Easy," Dean said, alarmed. "It's okay, I was just wondering."

"I didn't want…" Sam trailed off, gaze fixed over Dean's shoulder.

"Sam?"

"Why are you here?" Sam asked.

"Sarah called me," Dean said in his most patient voice. "She was worried about you. Said you took too many of those pills."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head and wincing at the pain it caused, letting his fingers brush against his new injury. Dean pulled them away before he hurt himself more. Sam's arm dropped like a dead weight. "I didn't."

"I think you did. Do you remember how you hurt your head?"

"Fell."

"Yeah, you did. Because you took too many pills. Probably got dizzy, huh?" Sam shrugged but didn't answer.

"I haven't been doing it, Dean. I've been good."

"Alright," Dean said. "Don't worry, we'll get you sorted out."

"Dean," Sam hissed, pulling his brother closer with surprising strength. "I didn't drink any."

"Okay," Dean said, glancing behind him at the open door.

"No demon blood," Sam said. "Not even a little."

"Shh," Dean said, frantic to keep Sam's voice down. If they heard Sam talking like this, they really would think he was crazy and they might find reason to keep him in the place for even longer. "Let's talk about it later."

"Don't tell Sarah," Sam begged. "I didn't mean to."

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked, noticing a bag of crackers was on the dresser and trying to change the subject. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Don't tell Sarah," Sam said again. "I don't want her here."

"I figured that," Dean said. "But she's your wife, man." To his horror, Sam eyes spilled over with sudden tears, running down his cheeks like a trickling waterfall.

"No, Dean. I just want you. I don't want her to see me."

"Okay, bud," Dean said, getting out of the chair and sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing Sam's shoulder. "Let's just concentrate on getting you better." Sam scooched down on the bed until his head was lying against Dean's thigh, his legs curled up under the blanket. He let out a soft sigh when Dean brushed tender fingers through his hair, sweeping his bangs away from his face. He was comforted by Sam's warm breath floating by his knee and almost missed the quiet whisper.

"Are you mad at me?" If Dean's heart was heavy before, it then became an anchor rooting him to the spot. He hand still overtop of Sam's head and his brother turned to look up at him, confused by the silence. "Dean?"

"No, Sammy," Dean choked out, swallowing down his emotion. He had to be strong, for his little brother. "No, I'm not mad." Satisfied, Sam closed his eyes and Dean resumed the soothing motion, listening intently Sam's already slow breaths evened out and became deeper, and Dean couldn't help but wonder how the man laying on his lap was the one who used to want to save the world.

xxx

Dean stayed until visiting hours were over at four. Sam was asleep until then and when Harriet came back to kick Dean out, he tried to slip off the bed without waking his brother but Sam's eyes blinked open as soon as he lost contact with Dean.

"D'n?"

"Right here." Sam wiped a string of drool from his cheek and sat up, rubbing his forehead.

"Where are you going?"

"Visiting hours are over. I gotta go home but I'll come back tomorrow, maybe talk to your doctor."

"You can't talk to his doctor unless he signs a form," Harriet told Dean while bringing Sam's shoes over to him. "Sam, put these on. I'm going to take you to group. Do you need help?" He blinked at her, unable to process the fast pace at which she spoke.

"With what?" She motioned to the shoes and he flushed.

"No. I don't – I don't so."

"He's fine," Dean said. "He can do it by himself." But Sam was moving as if encased in water, his limbs seemed to float through the air with no destination in mind.

"Sir, you need to leave," Harriet said. "We'll take good care of him."

"You're leaving?" Sam asked, one shoe half on.

"How much of that stuff did you give him?" Dean asked. "He's a person, not an elephant."

"I'm not at liberty to say," Harriet said, crouching down and jamming the shoe all the way onto Sam's foot.

"I'll help him," Dean said, brushing her aside and tying the laces of Sam's shoe before reaching for the other.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said, both relief and exhaustion clear in his voice.

"No problem, buddy. We've done this before, right? No big deal."

"Yeah," Sam said as Harriet stepped away with her arms crossed over her chest. She couldn't deny that Dean Winchester had a way with his brother. Sam had caused nothing but problems since they brought him in yesterday; sedatives were the only thing that were able to calm him down and even on those he was largely unresponsive. Now, with his brother, this was as interactive as she'd seen him so far.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Dean said, still squatting in front of Sam. "Okay?" He waited for Sam to nod. "Sammy, be good for these people. Don't hit them."

"They took away my pills," Sam whined.

"I know but that's not a good reason to hurt someone. I'm going to be back tomorrow to see you and maybe talk to your doctor if you'll let me."

"But not Sarah."

"We'll see," Dean said. "It's up to you. Why don't you think about it?" Sam nodded again. "So, when am I gonna be back?"

"Tomorrow." Dean stood and winced as his spine cracked. All the time in the car and then sitting on the bed for over an hour wasn't helping his already-sore muscles.

"That's right. Um, have fun at the group thing. See you later."

"I'll be right back," Harriet told Sam and then ushered Dean out the door and back down the hall. She practically pushed him back through the double door and then he was standing in the quiet again, being scrutinized by the front desk nurse. He gave her a wave of recognition, which she ignored and then went to collect his possessions from the lockers.

"How'd it go?" the guard ask, tugging his belt over his belly as he stood to hand Dean back his stuff.

"Fine."

"How's your brother?"

"How do you think?" Dean snapped. The guard raised those ginger eyebrows but didn't look offended.

"Yeah, it's rough, man. Any idea how long he'll be in there?"

"Not long," Dean said.

"That's what they all say," he heard the guard mutter at his back as he left the hospital.

xxx

When Sam had gone back to find Sarah after the demon blood withdrawal, she had acquired some property in Colorado that left to her by a relative. The house was a good size but cozy and sat on an impressive twenty acres of land. Gravel crunched underneath the Impala's tires as he drove down the lane to the house. It sat on an open space with a large front lawn encompassed from all directions by a thick forest. It was, Dean had to admit, a pretty darn nice place to live. Privacy was guaranteed but fifteen minutes in any direction would get them to all the necessary shops and stores. The hospital was twenty-five minutes away but the time between the two places gave him time to think.

He had no idea what he was going to say to Sarah or what he was _supposed _to say. The two of them got along for the most part, bonded by their unconditional love for Sam. But Dean had made himself scarce as the couple settled down, married, and then had a kid. Sure, he checked in on Sam often enough but whenever he visited for more than a couple days at a time, he felt like an intruder, or worse: someone playing house in a make-believe world. The domestic life had never been for Dean and probably never would.

Still, he appreciated and respected Sam's decision to leave hunting behind. Hell, it was all he ever wanted for him. Even in the early Stanford days when Dean had been too stubborn to pick up Sam's phone calls, there was a fierce comfort deep inside him knowing that Sam had escaped.

Real life, though, still had its demons. They found that out pretty soon.

The front door was locked because Sam had taught Sarah to be cautious and paranoid all at once so Dean had to ring the doorbell. It was a modest house that they had landscaped themselves with bushes and flowers decorating the walk up to the door. The last time he had been here, everything was covered in a foot of snow but now the flowers were bright with color, orange marigolds the color of the sunset, red geraniums peeking out shyly from hanging baskets.

Sarah opened the door after a minute, throwing it wide to let him through.

"Hey, Sarah," he said, setting his duffel down.

"Hi, Dean," was all she said before she threw her arms around him. Surprised at the gesture, it took him a moment to wrap his arms around her but he did so with care, rubbing her back for a minute as she turned her face into his shoulder.

"Sorry," she said, pulling away and wiping one hand across her face, looking ashamed.

"Mommy, was that Daddy?" Sam's daughter came running around the corner, skidding on the wooden floor in just her socks and a yellow sundress. It would have been comical how fast her face dropped when she saw Dean if it wasn't so incredibly sad. In an instant, she turned shy, ducking her chin and shifting from foot to foot.

"It's Uncle Dean," Sarah said because everything had just dropped ten degrees in friendliness. "Don't you want to say hi?" The little girl was the spitting image of her mother with a pretty face and curly dark hair that was held back by pink sparkly barrettes. But her eyes were Sam's and they blinked out at Dean with reproach.

"I want Daddy to come home," she said and then ran back the way she had come.

"She's not taking it well," Sarah said and sighed. "Obviously."

"What'd you tell her?" She shrugged and led him into the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine and then offering him a beer.

"That he was gonna be gone for a couple days. She doesn't know he's sick. I don't know how to explain that to a six year old."

Dean took a sip of beer so he didn't have to respond.

"How was he?" He dropped the beer onto the table and rubbed both hands over his face, trying to pull his thoughts together.

"They have him sedated. They can't tell me anything unless he signs a release form and he wasn't signing anything today." It was difficult to be this candid with Sarah when her eyes kept widening and the worried look on her face turned into fear. But she deserved to know, as much as Dean didn't want to tell her. "They have him down as being violent."

"Sam?"

"I know. He must have been pretty upset."

"I was there for a while yesterday," Sarah said, "But he wouldn't – he didn't want me to see him. I couldn't get in." Her voice dropped and she whispered the last sentence, fiddling with the stem of the wine glass, rubbing at it with her thumb as if that would change the situation. Dean was already halfway done with his beer.

"He's really messed up. I don't think he wants you to see him like that."

"I'm his wife," Sarah implored, raising her gaze to meet Dean's. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Of course it does," he said, growing uncomfortable. One reason he didn't like hanging out with Sarah and Sam was this. He didn't doubt Sam loved Sarah but at his core, he still relied the heaviest on Dean and that put the older Winchester is a tough spot with his brother's wife. They all knew it was true but no one like to think about it. "Sarah, I think he's just scared. He probably doesn't want to let you down."

"Well, he did," she said, tone clipped. "When he took those pills."

"How long do you think?" Dean asked. "How long has it been going on?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe a couple months but he's so good at hiding it. You know that."

"Yeah," Dean said remembering how Sam had been so careful when he was sneaking around with Ruby. Sarah still didn't know about that and Dean found no reason to tell her now.

"Hey, sweetie," Sarah said as Lucy came into the room, holding a stuff animal under her arm. She climbed onto her mother's lap and Dean slid the wineglass toward him so that the little girl didn't knock it off. "Are you getting hungry for dinner?" Lucy nodded, eyes on Dean.

Unlike Sarah, Sam's daughter had never taken to Dean. He supposed he intimidated her but then again, other kids liked him well enough so he didn't know what her problem. She was only six years old but it made him feel like there was something wrong with him.

"You know," Dean said to the little girl. "I saw your Daddy today." She sat up taller in her mother's lap and glanced up at Sarah and then back at Dean.

"You did?"

"Yeah. He said to tell you hi."

"He did?"

"Yep," Dean said, nodding emphatically.

"Is he gonna come home soon?" Lucy wanted to know.

"I think so," Dean said. "But he definitely misses you."

"I drew him pictures," Lucy said. "Do you want to see them?" Dean found himself nodding, surprised as he was that she had asked him. She was a shy child to begin with and then with the whole not-liking Dean thing…well, the two of them didn't spend a lot of quality time together. None, actually.

She ran down the hallway, dress fanning out behind her and he followed at a slower pace. As they climbed the stairs to her room, he paused to look at the pictures scattered along the walls. There were the usual family portraits taken at studios and Sam looked uncomfortable in every single one of them. Dean could just imagine Sarah forcing him to put on a sweater and tie for the occasion and thanked God right then and there that he wasn't married. The pictures were nice, he had to admit, but he liked the candid shots the best. Sarah had a knack for photography and that meant a great deal of the photos were of Sam and Lucy. One in particular caught his eye.

Like the majority of themm it featured Sam and Lucy together. Taken sometime when Lucy was a toddler, it showed her sitting on Sam's shoulders, his hands raised up to steady her. Her chubby fingers were grasping fistfuls of his hair and there was a look of pure delight on her face as Sarah had snapped the picture mid-laugh. Sam was smiling too, and not one of those posed, fake smiles but a genuine one of real content.

"I thought you were happy," muttered Dean to the Sam in the picture. "Why'd you do it?"

"Uncle Dean?" Lucy's head popped around the corner, dark hair swinging. "Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah, I'm coming," he said, taking a last glance at the picture, wanting to cement the old-Sam in his mind for the days to come. He didn't know what they would bring but he knew there was going to be trouble.

That's just how things went for the Winchesters.

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><p><strong>AN: **Hey guys, let me know if you want me to continue this. It's a little different, I know, but maybe y'all are interested? I don't know but tell me if you are!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks for all the initial interest! Again, this fic deals heavily with **drug addiction. **Please recognize that much of the detail is from personal experience and much of it is research. Because we're dealing with fiction, I'm also making some stuff up to fit the SPN 'verse. If there are any questions or you need clarification about a certain fact or detail, please don't hesitate to ask in a review or PM me!

* * *

><p><strong>We were tight knit boys,<br>****Brothers in more than name.  
><strong>**You would kill for me,  
><strong>**And knew that I'd do the same.  
><strong>**"Always Gold" –Radical Face**

Dean couldn't sleep that night, although it was true that he hardly slept on a normal night and tonight was anything but normal. The guest room only had a futon for a bed, which was like sleeping on the floor, only worse. Somehow it was too lumpy but prodded him in all the wrong parts at the same time, leaving him a grumbling mess as he tossed and turned under the sheet. Eventually, he got up and padded down the hallway in his socks, opening Lucy's door a crack to make sure the child was okay. He might not have Sam's paternal instinct but the compulsion to make sure everyone in the house was one hundred percent; it came from the long engraved memory of waking up in random motel rooms to make sure Sammy was asleep, that the door was locked and his shotgun loaded under the bed.

The couch in the living room was far more comfortable than the futon and Dean had worked enough television sets in his lifetime to easily figure out the remote. It was two in the morning so there was nothing good on and Dean had to settle on a soap opera, muting it and leaning back against the cushions. He'd brought a beer with him from the kitchen but it sat untouched on the coffee table next to where Dean's feet rested.

He fell asleep watching a family run out of a burning building.

It wasn't noise that woke him in the morning but a smell. The greasy, fat-ridden smell of bacon floated out of the kitchen and assaulted his senses with the force of a silver bullet.

"Good morning," Sarah said when he entered the kitchen. "There's a plate for you in the oven."

"Thanks," Dean mumbled, not totally on board with talking before he had a cup of coffee.

"I sent Lucy to a friend's house," Sarah continued, wiping the counter's down. "She can spend the night there if she needs to." Dean grunted around the half a piece of toast he had just shoved in his mouth. He reached across the table to drag his knife through the butter and then slapped it on the remaining bread.

"Sam called." His gaze snapped upward, jaw caught in mid-chew. He swallowed, almost choking.

"When?" Sarah threw the sponge in the sink and leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest.

"About an hour ago. They must have taken him off the sedatives, he sounded pretty clear to me." There was a bitterness in the way she was talking and Dean put down his fork with only half the eggs gone.

"What'd he say?"

"That he wants to come home today."

"That's great."

"And he wants you to come get him. Only you."

"Oh." Another woman might have looked away but Sarah held his gaze as strongly as any Hunter and it was Dean who ended up breaking eye contact, picking his fork back up and pushing the food around on his plate, unsure of what to say.

"Dean, what are you two planning?"

"What? Nothing!"

"I don't believe you." Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes but barely.

"Seriously, Sarah? I want him to get better as much as you do. I'm not going to do anything to sacrifice that." Dean swallowed but forced himself to continue, knowing what Sarah needed to hear. "Sam needs to come home to you and Lucy." She dropped into the seat across from him and started playing with a stray napkin, pulling it to pieces.

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Dean said.

"Dean, he's so out of control. I don't know what's wrong with him. You haven't been around, you don't know…" She shrugged and now refused to look at him. "I knew something was wrong but I didn't know it was this. I should have called you a long time ago, but I thought I could fix it by myself."

"We're going to figure it out, okay?" Dean said. Sarah glanced down at the table, the napkin laid in tatters between her hands. "Listen," Dean said. "I'm not gonna just leave you with him. I'll stick around as long as you need me."

"You don't have to do that," Sarah said. "I'm not trying to trap you here. I know we're not really your idea of fun."

"You're family," Dean said firmly, trying to sound as sincere as he felt. Sure, he was here mostly for Sam but he liked Sarah well enough that he would help her out if he could. If Sam was using again – and all signs pointed that way – then it was going to be hard for everyone involved; he wouldn't let her handle that by herself. She _couldn't _do it by herself. Hell, he'd tried that and barely held on.

"Thanks," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "You'll go get him, talk to the doctor and I'll stay here and go through the house, try to find his stash."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I trust you, Dean. Especially with Sam. Find out everything you can from the doctor and tell me later."

"Sarah, he's not-,"

"Don't," she said, standing and sweeping the napkin pieces off the table. "Don't make excuses for him right now. He doesn't deserve it."

"Okay," Dean said. "If you're sure."

"Don't ask me that again," she said, walking away. "Or I might change my mind."

xxx

This time, he remembered to leave the knife in the Impala and got through to the ward with no problem. A different nurse than yesterday met him at the double door, grimacing when he said Sam's name.

"He's in the bathroom," she said. "The withdrawal symptoms finally hit last night, just before dinner." They bypassed Sam's room and headed to a half open door where an orderly was standing guard.

"His brother," the nurse announced over the sound of retching. The orderly nodded at Dean without a word.

Dean pushed the door all the way open to reveal a sterile, hospital bathroom with Sam kneeling in the center. His white t-shirt – probably the same one from yesterday – was damp with sweat and sticking to his skin, molded around the muscles that were clearly defined when Sam leaned forward and dry-heaved into the toilet. He growled out a sentence as Dean took a step closer.

"I said _get out_." The words were raspy and choked but full of a venom Dean barely recognized.

"Whoa, it's just me," Dean said, holding up his hands. Sam's head whipped around, lips shiny with spit, matching the heavy sheen coating his face. His whole body sagged when he saw his brother.

"Dean?" As if that one word held permission, – and maybe it did – Dean covered the space between them in a few short strides. He squatted down beside Sam, trying not to cringe at the overpowering smell of vomit.

"Not feeling so hot?" Sam gave a laugh that sounded more like a bark. He then groaned and rocked back on his heels, wiping his bangs away from his forehead.

"You can say that again."

"Well, we knew it was going to be bad," Dean said. He didn't know what else to say because Sam had been through this before, more than once, and it was miserable every time. After the demon blood withdrawal had almost killed him, Dean thought the worst was behind them. But then the pills had showed up and Sam's addictive personality came out to play once again.

Sam didn't answer, just launched forward and gagged into the toilet while Dean steadied him with a hand around Sam's bicep, another hovering over his back in case he needed extra support.

"Supposed to meet…with the doctor," Sam panted, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"Alright. You think you're done?" Sam grimaced.

"For now." He kept his bloodshot eyes turned downward as they followed the nurse to an empty office across the ward.

"You aren't allowed to come in," she told Dean when he went to follow Sam into the room. He reared back as if slapped.

"What?"

"This is confidential," she said. "But we can come get you as soon as we're done."

"I'm staying," Dean said. Sam flopped into a chair and appeared not to be listening. The nurse was continuing her protestations when the doctor walked up: a tall, thick man with a black beard and plastic-framed glasses.

"I'm Dr. Morey, can I help you?"

"Dean Winchester," he said, shaking the doctor's hand.

"Sam's brother," Dr. Morey said, nodding and noticing the younger Winchester waiting in the office. "He told me about you the day he came in."

"I'd liked to sit in," Dean said.

"That's up to Sam," Dr. Morey said, beckoning Dean into the room and seating himself behind the desk.

"Sam, is it okay if Dean is in the meeting with us?" Dean expected an immediate yes but Sam glanced over at him, sucking on his lower lip in thought.

"What are we meeting about?"

"We'll talk about your future, where you go from here. Make a plan."

"I guess he can stay," Sam said. "I don't care." The nurse stepped inside and shut the door as Dean gave her a smug look and sat down beside Sam.

"Okay, Sam," Dr. Morey said, opening up Sam's file. "As you know, we can't hold you for over forty-eight hours without your consent."

"I want to go home." The venom had returned and Dean looked over in surprise. Not that Sam was passive in any aspect of the word but most of the time he was at least calm.

"Sam, let's not make hasty decisions," Dr. Morey said, not looking surprised at all by Sam's tone. In fact, he looked like he rather expected it.

"I'm going home. You just said you can't keep me here!"

"Please lower your voice. I only want to explore your options." Sam glared at him and curled his fingers around the armrests on his chair, his knuckles turning white.

"What are the options, doc?" Dean cut in only to prevent an increasingly agitated Sam from leaping across the desk and strangling the man.

"One, you can stay here for a little longer, which I know you don't want to do. Or, I can also refer you to a rehab center. There are a few excellent facilities in the area and I think you would benefit tremendously from being in a strict program."

"Or I can go home," Sam reminded him flatly.

"Yes." Dr. Morey was reluctant to go on, "But given your past history…"

"I choose going home," Sam said, starting to rise. Dean held him back.

"Hey, whoa! Let's just talk for a sec," Dean said. "The doctor might have a good idea."

"Sam, you overdosed," Dr. Morey said and Sam flinched at the word. "You have a problem no matter what choice you make. You have to face the facts."

"I don't have a problem," Sam snapped. "I can stop whenever I want to."

"Is that what happened last time?" Dr. Morey countered. Dean was about to intervene, to make a suggestion of his own when Sam stood up, sending his chair scraping across the floor.

"You don't know anything about me!" Sam said. "I just met you, why do you get to tell me what to do with my life?" While he was talking, the nurse came up and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. It was a harmless gesture, maybe even one of compassion, but to an ex-Hunter, it was a death blow. Sam's left hand came up automatically and before Dean could do more than stand, Sam had the nurse's arm twisted behind her back and she was up against the wall, blood smattering where her nose connected with plaster.

There was a high-pitched yelp and then an alarm was sounding and Dean was pulling at Sam, trying to relax his brother's vise-like hold on the terrified woman.

"Sam! Hey, get the hell off her!" The door crashed open and two orderlies came running in, one prying Dean off his brother while the other held out a syringe toward Sam.

"No, don't!" Dean yelled but it was too late. The needle sank into Sam's outstretched arm. He turned on the orderly then and in doing so, released his grip on the nurse. She slid down the wall, holding her face.

"Sam!" Dean said, rushing to his brother and putting a hand on each arm to steady him as he swayed on the spot, still taking swings at the orderly who had a firm hold on the back of Sam's neck. Dean pried back the man's fingers until they were either going to break or he was going to let go. He chose the latter option and Dean immediately maneuvered his body in between Sam and the rest of the people in the office.

"Sammy?" The sedative was taking effect as Sam's arms dropped to his side.

"Dean? I don't…what?" He swung his gaze around the room as if a weight was attached to it. "Dean?" His tone turned frightened and unsure.

"It's okay," Dean said even though they were the farthest from okay they had been in a long time. Somewhere behind him, Dr. Morey was talking but Dean was focused only on Sam. His brother's muscles were relaxing under his touch and Sam was still confused.

"Dean…"

"It's okay, you're okay."

"'m so heavy," Sam slurred, drooping another inch, brow furrowed.

"Whoa, don't fall, champ. The ground isn't soft, remember?" It was obvious that once again they had injected too much of the tranquilizer; Dean was supporting more and more of Sam's weight.

"Take him back to his room," Dr. Morey said, walking over. It seemed he was both unaffected and unimpressed with the outburst. He took something out of his breast pocket and what Dean thought was a pen was actually a light and he pulled up Sam's eyelids, flashing the light in briefly. Sam's reaction was sluggish but startled all the same.

"Ge' off," he said, pulling away and trying to turn his head into Dean's shoulder.

"I got him, I got him," Dean said, waving off the approaching orderly. He'd carried an almost unconscious Sam countless times before and he was sure he could do it again. "C'mon, buddy," he said lightly, his tone becoming gentler as his attention turned to baby brother. He threw one of Sam's arms around his shoulders, taking most of his weight and letting Sam sink into his body.

"Sam, you gotta help me out," he muttered. "Move your feet, I ain't dragging you." Sam tried to acquiesce and they managed a half drag, half shuffle scenario that got them to the room where Dean could put his brother on the bed.

"D'n, i's fuzzy," Sam mumbled, scrunching his eyes up as Dean arranged the pillows behind his back. Somewhere beneath the stupor of the sedative he was still able to clench tightly to Dean's shirtsleeve, fingers twisted into the fabric as deeply as he was twisted into his brother's life. "I wanna go home," he whined, using the exact same voice that had always tugged at Dean's heart.

"I know, I'm going to get you out of here," Dean said, not sure if that was even possible, but knowing it was probably in his best interest to lie at the moment. "Sammy, let go," he said, having to uncurl Sam's fingers one by one and noting the trembling that was starting to travel through them. He wanted his brother to get help but he also knew that Sam liked to suffer in private and going through the first stages of withdrawal in such a public place was going to do more harm than good for his psyche.

"Thanks," Sam sighed, when Dean covered him with a blanket. He didn't close his eyes but his vision was unfocused as he stared at the wall.

"I'm going go talk to the doctor," Dean said, rising. Sam jolted as if to get out of bed, to follow his brother but Dean shook his head. "Stay put, Sammy," he said. "I'll come back."

"Promise?"

"Of course."

He didn't look behind him but he knew Sam's eyes followed him all the way out the door.

xxx

"Mr. Winchester, your brother is dangerous." Dean sighed and leaned forward in his chair. Like Sam, he was getting tired of strangers making assumptions about them.

"He's not dangerous," Dean said. "He's just uncomfortable around people he doesn't know." The doctor gave an unprofessional snort and took off his glasses to polish them on the lapels of his white coat.

"I don't think you understand. The brother you know is gone. Right now, Sam is only an addict, nothing more." Dean clenched his jaw. That wasn't true; Sammy was under there somewhere.

"I've dealt with him before," he said. "He did this a few years ago, which I'm sure you know about."

"That's what concerns me," Dr. Morey said. "This is his second relapse…"

_Third if you counted the demon blood._

"…and he needs professional help."

"I understand," Dean said. "But locking Sam up somewhere doesn't work, trust me. Just let him go home today and let me get him through the worst of the withdrawal. Maybe there's some group he could go to after that."

Dr. Morey eyed the man sitting before him. So many family members of addicts were naïve and innocent, throwing themselves in the path of addiction, and it frustrated him to no end when he inevitably saw them again, weeks or months or years down the line. But Dean Winchester didn't come across as naïve. There was a certain quality about the man, an almost war torn air about him that made Dr. Morey second-guess his court order to hold Sam Winchester in the ward against his will.

"You think you can handle him? You saw how violent he got in here. He broke Cindy's nose, almost dislocated her shoulder."

"I can handle him," Dean said, sitting back. "I know all his tricks, all his moves."

"Okay," Dr. Morey said. "But let me give you a couple pointers. This isn't going to be easy for either one of you."

xxx

Sam was still out of it ninety minutes later when they finally agreed to release him.

"He should wake up tomorrow morning with a clear head. Well, besides the withdrawal symptoms," the discharge nurse said. Two orderlies were standing by just in case but Sam could hardly move himself from bed to wheelchair as Dean once again helped him slip on his shoes. There would be no more fighting, not today.

"What do you think?" Dean said, smiling up at his brother as he tied the laces. "Ready to go home?" Sam gave him a faint smile.

"Yeah." The shaking had increased despite the tranquilizer and Sam hands were jumping in his lap, his shoulders starting to dance along with them as Dean took the wheelchair from one of the orderlies and steered his brother outside the ward, happy to leave behind the stares and sounds of the mentally unstable, glad to remove his brother from an environment that wanted to fit him into a specific slot. Sam wasn't an addict – Dean didn't like that word – but there was definitely something wrong with him. But it wasn't something that could be fixed while sharing a bathroom with someone who ate glue.

Getting Sam in the Impala was a challenge as the tremors grew fiercer paired with a cold sweat that swathed the younger Winchester like a blanket. They almost had to turn right back around when Sam tripped during the two foot transition from wheelchair to passenger seat, his head coming within centimeters of the Impala's metal frame. Dean sucked in a breath as he jerked Sam back just in time, ignoring Sam's unhappy grunt at the movement.

"Just gonna buckle you up," Dean said, leaning into the car and over his brother. When his shirt brushed against Sam's hands, he reached out and grabbed hold and Dean had to spend another two minutes in the uncomfortable position until he could persuade Sam to let go.

Finally, _finally, _Dean climbed into the driver's seat, breathing out a heavy breath at the amount of exertion those few simple movements had cost. He missed when things used to be simple. Well, simpler than this. When werewolves were easier to handle than fucked up pills that left you a craving mess. And vampires were what you took blows at, not other human beings. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, glancing over at Sam as he did so.

His brother's head was resting against the window and his eyes were closed and for a moment, Dean could pretend that they were back in the old days and he actually knew what he was doing.

If only.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **So sorry about the delay! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

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><p><strong>It may sound absurd,<br>****But don't be naïve,  
><strong>**Even heroes have the right to bleed.  
><strong>**"Superman (It's Not Easy)" -Five for Fighting**

Sarah was waiting at the door for them; Dean could see her peering through the frosted glass panes of the front door, although when he got Sam inside the house she was hanging back in the foyer.

"Sam," she said and he jerked his head up from where he had been staring at the floor, eyes at half-mast. Her shoulders visibly sank when Sam cringed away from her, stumbling into Dean who had to brace himself against the wall when Sam's weight pushed into him. "Sam," Sarah said again, not willing to give up. She took a step forward, reaching out an arm and touching her husband on his arm. He was shaking under her touch and she recognized the tremors of withdrawal, had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing.

"Sammy's got a bit of tranqs in him," Dean said lightly. "Right?" Sam mumbled something that might have been a yes or might have been a no. Sarah's hand dropped back to her side.

"He should sleep it off," Sarah said. "He'll sleep it off."

Dean thought she might have taken the lead but instead she stepped back and let Dean steer Sam down the hallway into the master bedroom. Sarah had a fondness for the ocean and the room was painted a light blue with porcelain seashells scattered on the walls. A collection of starfish hung above the headboard of the bed that Sam collapsed onto, groaning and pulling himself into the fetal position. Dean let him be, digging into the oak dresser and grabbing a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt.

"He'll sweat through them," Sarah said. She was standing by the door, watching. Just watching. Dean paused, glanced down at the pajamas, and then over at Sam. He chose not to answer and Sarah disappeared.

"Don't worry about her, Sammy," Dean said, climbing onto the bed and kneeling beside his brother. "She's just a little bit upset." Sam moaned in response and swatted Dean's hand away when he tried to uncurl him. "Sam, let's get this hospital shirt off, you stink."

Sarah was right; Sam's body was already coated in a thin layer of clammy sweat that made Dean's fingertips sticky as they brushed over his brother's skin. It was only going to get worse, Dean knew, but he tugged a t-shirt over Sam's hair, wishing he owned a pair of clippers to get the mess out of Sam's face once and for all. Sam's body gave a tremendous shiver and he pulled himself out of Dean's hands over to the side of the bed.

"Hey, hey, hey," Dean said, jumping off the bed and grabbing the wastebasket from next the dresser. He put it under Sam's nose just in time for Sam to vomit into it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. Dean got Sam sitting upright and then sat next to him, one arm around his shoulders while the other gripped the bicep closest to him. "You got this," Dean said as Sam lurched forward, held back only by Dean's strong hands. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe through it, you'll be fine." Sam spluttered and choked his way through a solid five minutes of throwing up, emptying his stomach of the next to nothing he had eaten while being in the hospital.

"Dean," Sam muttered as he eased onto the pillows, using the back of his hand to wipe drool from his lips. All it did was smear it across his cheek.

"I got you, buddy," Dean said. He wet a washcloth from the adjoining bathroom and ran it over Sam's face and hands, trying to drown out the whimpers coming from his brother. He remembered doing this for years, wiping the chubby cheeks of infant and toddler Sam after he had eaten, after he had played outside, before Dean had tucked him into bed.

"Where's Sarah?" Sam wanted to know, curling up again; it was easier to contain the shaking that way.

"In the kitchen," Dean said, fumbling with the medications he had shoved in his pocket and dumping the right amount into his hand. "Sam, you gotta take these," he said, trying to get Sam to sit up.

"I want Sarah," Sam said, whining like a petulant child, but his words were sluggish and tripped over each other. "I want her."

"I know," Dean said, opening his brother's mouth and sticking two of the pills onto his tongue before holding a glass of water to his lips. "Swallow," he instructed and Sam did. He swallowed all the pills and then flopped onto the bed, hair fanning onto the pillow, eyes closed. Dean stayed with him until he was asleep and then left after covering him with blankets.

He found Sarah in the kitchen, dumping a bottle of sauce into a crockpot.

"He's sleeping," Dean said, putting the pill bottles on the counter. Sarah swept them up and opened a cabinet door before dropping them into a saucepan and shutting the cabinet door again.

"Great," she said without turning toward him. She unscrewed another bottle and dumped it in the pot. Barbeque sauce by the smell of it; Dean's favorite.

"He's asking for you," Dean said.

"Mmm," Sarah said in response, stirring the dinner. Dean grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with water from the tap. It felt weird to be talking about Sam when he was just down the hall.

"You know he's sorry," Dean tried. Sarah dropped the wooden spoon and rested her palms flat on the counter. Dean heard her draw in a deep breath before she turned around.

"He's not sorry," she said. "That's just the withdrawal talking. He'd say he was sorry for global warming if he thought that would take the pain away." The words came out tight and bitter but Sarah couldn't bring herself to take them back. Dan ran a tired hand over his face, the callouses on his palms catching on growing stubble.

"Sarah…" But her shaking head cut him off.

"Dean. I have a child to care for, a house to run, a job to not get fired from. He _promised_ he would never do this again."

"He just needs time."

"I gave him time," Sarah cried, her voice finally rising in frustration. She threw her hands up in the air. "And he lied to me…again."

"He really is sorry."

"You don't know that."

"This is Sam we're talking about," Dean protested.

"Which Sam? My husband, the hunter, the addict?" She shook her head.

"So what?" Dean said. "Are you saying you're done with him?" Her eyes flashed dangerously and her voice shook when she spoke to him, her words a fierce whisper.

"Don't you dare, Dean Winchester. I'm not throwing him away like a piece of trash. It's just…"

"What?" he challenged. Her shoulders sagged

"I don't know. I don't know what to do." Dean pulled himself back for a moment, let the protective older brother in him take a step away and saw that Sarah was truly lost. It had always been so clear to him: take care of Sam no matter what, forgive Sam no matter what. It wasn't like that for everyone. Sarah had boundaries.

"Do you want me to take him somewhere else?" Dean said, "I have some money. We could get a motel room, maybe an apartment for a while." Sarah sighed again.

"I think that would throw him off. I don't know. It's not like I'm not supportive, but I don't trust him and I don't know if I ever will again. So do your thing, get him through the worst of it and we'll go from there. Besides, he always listens to you more." She walked out without giving Dean a chance to respond.

Sarah retired around ten, traipsing past the master bedroom with a pillow and blankets. She stuck her head in, catching Dean's attention from where he sat watching Sam.

"I'm going to sleep in the office," she said.

"You should use the guest room," Dean said. "I'll be in here all night."

"Are you sure?" Dean nodded, his eyes flickering over to Sam; Sarah followed his gaze. Her husband was sweating but still shivering under the three blankets Dean had covered him with. He hadn't shaved in days, untidy scruff covered his jawline and crept down his neck.

"Why does he do it?" she asked and Dean couldn't tell if she was actually looking for an answer.

"I don't know," he said softly. "Sam has a lot of things he's trying to forget." She stared for a few moments longer and then cleared her throat.

"You should get some sleep while you can," she said and tried to give him a smile before she left. Dean heard the light switch click on in the room next door and then the muted sounds of the TV came through the wall. He settled further back in his chair but there wasn't a chance he could rest. Instead, he just waited.

xxx

The tranquilizers began to wear off a little past midnight and Dean was there when Sam started eliciting pained whimpers that turned quickly into moans.

"Shhh," Dean soothed, crouching beside the bed. Sam wouldn't even open his eyes but he started to move his heavy limbs and Dean caught the hand that flailed nearest to him.

"Hey, Sam, you're okay bud." Sam grunted and kicked out, drawing the blankets down to his waist. "Sam, open your eyes," Dean said. Sam's forehead scrunched and he grunted again, trying to find is voice. "Open up," Dean instructed.

The hazel eyes finally blinked open but then disappeared again as they hit the overhead light.

"Hold on," Dean said, crossing the room and turning the light off, sending them into almost full darkness. The only light now came from the thin gap between the curtains covering the far side windows. "Better?" Dean asked, switching the bathroom light on so that a rectangle of yellow paleness patterned the floor. Sam's searching eyes found Dean as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Easy," Dean said as Sam tried to sit up only to find is muscles were not cooperating. They danced and writhed under his skin, milking him of his strength. Dean slid an arm around his brother's shoulders and helped prop him on.

"D'n?" Sam voice was thick with sedation, the name was little more than a mumble of twisted sounds. Still, Dean recognized it.

"Yep, I'm right here." Sam's chest shuddered in a sigh. Everything was fuzzy still, both in vision and in mind. Dean blurred when he moved and Sam couldn't help but wonder why his brother was here at all. His tongue felt swollen and hot inside his mouth when he asked,

"Where's Sarah?" Sam was out of it enough that he didn't pick up on Dean's momentary hesitation before he answered.

"Sleeping. It's late."

"What…" Sam was going to ask what happened but he had an inkling the nightmare pressing against his skull wasn't a nightmare at all but a terrible reality.

The pills, the hospital, the doctor telling him he should be locked up like some wild animal. The cramping in his stomach was there too, his bare feet were damp with cold sweat and all of a sudden he wanted the blankets _off._

He kicked out frantically, trying to untangle himself but ended up only twisting them further. Fuck, he wanted them gone, they were going to swallow him, eat him while he was still alive. He was being smothered.

"Chill out," Dean said, standing, reaching past Sam's scrabbling fingers to unwrap the blankets. Sam was breathing heavily, almost panting with effort and fright.

"Dean," he gasped once he was free. "Dean, I'm gonna-," he motioned to his stomach.

"Alright, bathroom's right here. Let's go." Sam crossed the room on unsteady legs, Dean following close behind, reaching out to ease the crash when Sam sank to his knees on the tile floor. He was sick for only a minute before the vomiting turned to dry heaving. Eventually, Sam leaned back, resting his head against the wall. Dean was perched on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the basket of bath toys under the sink. He could make out several barbies with pink hair and some sort of dolphin thing that looked as if it might float.

"You wanna head back?"

"Give me a minute," Sam said. His cheeks were pale underneath the glisten of sweat and Dean knew that behind the closed lids were bloodshot eyes. This wasn't nearly as bad as the demon blood withdrawal – when Sam had hovered so close to death for weeks – but it still pained Dean to see his brother going through it. Even if he had brought it upon himself.

"Sarah's mad at me, isn't she?" Sam asked suddenly. He squinted at Dean when his brother didn't answer and then let out a sigh. "She has a right to be."

"She doesn't understand why you did it," Dean said. "To be honest, Sammy, neither do I."

"I don't know," Sam muttered. "I didn't want to do it. I won't do it again, I promise."

"You said that last time," Dean reminded him. Harsh as it had sounded coming from Sarah, Dean didn't trust his brother any more than she did. Sam had a nasty habit of trying to do the right thing and having it backfire on him. Dean was sure that Sam had taken the pills as a last resort, that he had thought there was no other move to make.

Unlike Sarah though, Dean still had faith in his brother. He knew there was something in Sam that could put him on the right track again, it was just a matter of finding that something and igniting the flame beneath it.

"Let's go back to bed," Dean said, helping his brother rise and keeping a firm grip on his elbow as Sam lowered himself back onto the pillows. He was shaking again, his toes curled against the trembling and the nausea, one hand tucked under his head, the other trying to hold onto Dean's shirt. The flannel was velvety between his fingers.

"Lucy's gonna h-ate m-m-me," Sam said, peering beyond Dean – or maybe right through him. His teeth did more than chatter; they were doing the goddamn Charleston against each other but Sam was scared that if he stopped talking, his throat would close up forever and he'd never speak again.

"No, she's not," he heard Dean say. That gruff voice was so different from the soft material still clenched in Sam's hand.

"Y-yes she i-i-is," Sam stuttered, trying to curl even further in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest, his chin dipping down against his chest. His bangs fell into his eyes when he did so and he felt Dean sweep them back and then keep stroking.

"She loves you, Sam," Dean said. "She can't wait to see you." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, images of his precious daughter running across the mind. She had been so little when she was born, five weeks early. Had fought so hard to survive in that plastic container in the hospital and Sam had loved her since the nurses first let him hold her. He had been sitting in an armchair in the NICU and she was so tiny, not even the full length of his forearm. Sam remembered thinking he was going to drop her even as she pressed herself against his chest seeking out comfort.

Six years later, he had finally dropped her.

Dean sat up most of the night, accompanying his brother on several trips to the bathroom so Sam could hover over the table and retch, stringy clumps of drool being spit in the toilet. He dozed off now and then but Sam was usually awake, watching the room with wandering eyes, lost in his own world of mental and physical anguish. When the shivering grew too intense for him to continue talking, he contented himself with just holding onto Dean's shirt, making sure his brother didn't go anywhere. Sam knew that if Dean left him, he wouldn't make it. He would drown in his own misery as his body continued to punish him for being stupid enough to take those pills. Why hadn't he remembered withdrawal was this painful? Why had he done it in the first plae?

It was nearing five in the morning when Sam finally dropped off into a more peaceful sleep, still folded in on himself. Dean waited a while to make sure Sam was truly asleep before rising slowly, pulling his shirt out of Sam's now relaxed grip. His back ached from sitting in one position for so long, his feet hurt from wearing his least favorite pair of boots. He kicked them off into a corner of the room and padded into the bathroom on socked feet. The small space reeked of sweat and vomit but Dean was oblivious as he splashed water on his face, swished some around in his mouth. His own eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and after one glance in the mirror, he avoided looking at himself again.

When he went back into the bedroom, Sam was in the same position as before. Dean eyed the armchair next to the bed and then, with stiff movements, climbed onto the bed next to Sam, slipping his cold feet under one of the blankets. As if sensing him there, Sam's body scooted back until his back was pressed against Dean's shoulder.

They weren't going to solve everything in one night, Dean thought, allowing himself to close his eyes and grimacing when they burned at the forgotten movement. It was going to take a while for fix this problem, but he wasn't going to let Sam extract himself from this life he had created for himself.

Sam finally had a home and a real family and Dean was going to make sure it stayed that way.

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><p><strong>AN: **This story is still relatively new so I'd love to know what you think about it!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I don't usually update my multi-chapter fics on holiday week but I didn't want to leave you guy hanging for another week. Consider it my present to you ;)

Have a great holiday, everyone! And thanks, as always, for reading!

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><p>They slept late. Sarah peeked in around nine to find both Sam and Dean on the bed. Dean slept without moving, flat on his back with one arm above his head. He was still dressed in the jeans he'd arrived in two days ago, a wrinkled black t-shirt that was rucked up, exposing his stomach. Sarah hadn't planned on going inside the bedroom but she went anyway, grabbing a blanket for the closet and throwing it over her brother-in-law. Standing closer to him, she could see the remnants of various wounds decorating his torso. Sam had them too. Bullet wounds and stab wounds, puckered skin and numb scars where the nerves had never healed.<p>

Sam rolled halfway over in his sleep, pressing his body back against Dean's. She put a hand on the foot nearest to her, the cool, smooth skin so familiar under her touch. When she looked back up at him, Sarah found her husband peering down at her, his eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones as they fluttered open and closed, trying to waken all the way.

"Sarah."  
>Sam's voice was gravel, his throat wrecked from hours of stomach acid coursing through it.<p>

"Sarah, please."

He was still shaking, still sweating. Sam had always experienced worse withdrawals than anyone else, that's what the doctors said anyway. Sarah knew it had something to do with his past but neither he nor Dean had ever expressed a desire to tell her and she was okay with that. At least, she had been. Before.

She could hardly look at him, couldn't squeeze back when his damp fingers found her own. Ashamed of herself, she pulled out of his grip with ease. For once, she was stronger than him. Then again, maybe she always had been. It was odd how the tables were turned now, how Sam was the one in desperate need of help when all his life he had been the rescuer. The savior.

Not anymore. Now Sarah was the strong one. And she couldn't be sure but she thought the heated, curdled feeling deep in her belly might be resentment. Because Sam had left her alone. Sarah was completely alone now and she hated it.

"Dean," she said, voice just above a whisper. "Dean, wake up." All she had to do was lay a hand on the Hunter's calf and he started under the blanket, throwing the material off as he reached for his belt. "Just me," she said. "Sam's up."

She left the room before the resentment turned to guilt.

"Sam?" Dean said, running his tongue along his teeth to try and dispel the haziness of sleep from his voice. "You okay?"

Sam was awake but staring at the ceiling, legs curled up under him. Dean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Sam, let's try to walk around a little," Dean said as he stood and stretched, cracking his back as he bent to the side. "Jesus, you guys need to get a new mattress. How do you sleep on this thing every night? I'm sleeping on the floor tonight. Sam?"

Sam was now curled up on his side, not staring at the ceiling but at the wall in front of him and suddenly there were tears when there hadn't been a minute ago. Dean crouched in front of him.

"Hey, what's up?" There were little choking noises coming from his throat and Dean noticed Sam's eyes looked so much brighter when he cried, the green flecks coming out from hiding. "Sam, you have to tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

"Sarah," Sam gasped, trying to turn his head into his pillow but Dean wouldn't let him. He kept a hand under Sam's chin. Dean sighed and Sam's bangs quivered along with the rest of him.

"She'll come around," he said. He moved his hand from Sam's jaw to the back of his neck, cupping it protectively, leaning in so their foreheads were almost touching. "Sam, we gotta figure you out first, okay? Let's get this stuff out of your system and then worry about Sarah."

"She's going to leave me."

"No, she's not," Dean said although he had been wondering the same thing. Sarah hadn't taken kindly to the first time Sam had been on pills, back when Lucy was two. She'd almost kicked him out right then and there until he promised to clean up his act.

"Come on," Dean continued, putting an arm around Sam's shoulder and helping him sit up. "Let's go out to the living room."

"My legs hurt too much," Sam said, flopping against the pillows as Dean found him a clean pair of clothes. He watched as Sam threaded his arms through a sweatshirt and then a pair of matching sweatpants. Sam's legs were unsteady at first as he stood but then the ground stopped moving and he made his way to the bathroom.

"Door open," Dean reminded him.

"Are you kidding?" Sam complained, scowling. The tears had cleared up but the redness around his eyes stayed, contrasting with the paleness of his cheeks. Dean's brother didn't look so great.

"No," Dean said, pulling on his boots and running a hand through his hair, which only made it stick up even more.

"I'm going to take a piss, not start the apocalypse."

"Hilarious," Dean said dryly. "Don't make me take the door off the hinges."

Sam was too tired to argue back. He knew that Dean didn't trust him anymore, that he had lost the right to self-preservation last week when he decided to take the pills, but that didn't make the lack of privacy any easier. Sam was so used to being alone. Even in a house with a wife and child, Sam always sought out nooks and quiet places. He liked being by himself, liked the radio static of his brain. Maybe that's why he liked the drugs so much. They turned the volume of the static up. Way up.

"I know you took them all," he said as he washed his hands. "While I was at the hospital."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "But I bet you have a few new hiding spots, don't you, little brother?" Sam shrugged. "You'll spit it out eventually," Dean said. "Until then, no alone time."

"And no sharp knives?" Sam said, enough of a sarcastic bite to his words to make Dean pause.

"Do I need to worry about that, Sammy?" he asked. The doctor had warned Dean of this, had made Dean promise to take action if Sam mentioned suicide or self-harm. No one could be sure that Sam hadn't been trying to overdose in the basement; there were just too many damn pills to be sure.

"No," Sam said. "I was just messing around." Dean bit his lip, looking anywhere but at his brother.

"You'd tell me, right?"

"Tell you what?"

"You know…" He took his hand off the door to gesture. "About the knives…"

"Dean, I'm not going to commit suicide," Sam said. His hair was greasy between his fingers when he pushed it out of his face and behind his ears. He wondered if Dean would let him shower alone or if he would sit on the toilet waiting like he did when Sam was a child and needed supervision in the bath.

"You better not," Dean said, dropping the subject but not the crawling feeling that rode along his skin. Suicide wasn't an option for a Winchester. Dean had never considered it, not even after Sam died in Cold Oak. Not even during those nights when he had laid awake and wished to be dead so that he could join his brother had Dean never considered taking a blade or bullet to himself. The purest instinct in him – after _protect Sam_ – was to live. That was the whole point of a Hunter: live long enough to kill as many monsters as you could. Being dead wasn't going to save anybody. Sam should know that.

Then again, Sam didn't do a lot of saving these days.

Sarah was in the kitchen, pulling a batch of muffins out of the oven. Dean had figured out shortly after Sam and Sarah were married that the woman loved to cook and bake. She was always sending him home with packages of food whenever he visited, almost commenting on how he must not eat enough because all bachelors were like that. Dean didn't mind a single bit. The woman would have sent him care packages if he'd had a permanent address to ship them to.

"Living room," Dean said, gripping Sam's arm when they went down the step that led into the family room. He settled Sam on the couch with a blanket and the remote.

"Morning," he said to Sarah when he walked back into the kitchen. She was arranging the muffins into a wicker basket.

"Morning," she said, holding out a muffin because she knew he would take it. He did.

"Apple cinnamon," she said as he took a bite. "It's a new recipe so let me know if you like it. I have to do snacks for Lucy's class next week and was thinking about doing muffins and juice boxes. What do you think? First graders are so picky sometimes."

She was rambling and Dean let her keep going as he leaned against the counter, reaching for another muffin before he had even finished the first. She watched Dean eat but wasn't really seeing him. He was just an object in the kitchen to her at his point. Sarah had barely slept last night, had gotten up in the middle of the night just to hear Sam retching in the bathroom, Dean's indistinct murmuring coming through the cracked door. She was glad Dean was there. Even if she wasn't always happy to see the man – he did something to Sam every time he came around – it was good to have another adult in the house. God knew they were the only two at the moment.

"They're excellent," Dean said, finishing his second muffin, mouth still full. "Really, really good."

"Good," she said. "Listen, I have to pick Lucy up in a bit. Think I can bring her back here?" Dean swallowed the rest of his breakfast and glanced out at the living room. It didn't sound like Sam had turned the TV on yet.

"Yeah," Dean said. "He'll be okay with her. It's going to get worse before it gets better but I don't think he's going to get dangerous."

"Dean, if there's any chance he could hurt her, you have to tell me. Don't try to protect him. Not about this." Sarah's eyes were dark and serious, the lines around her mouth grew deeper as she fought the anxiety of bringing her daughter home.

"He won't," Dean said. "I promise."

"You said the doctors said he was violent."

"Yeah but that's not really Sam," Dean protested. He remembered Sam throwing the nurse against the wall, the blood on his brother's hands. The wild look in Sam's eyes that told Dean just how deep they were into this. "He attacked one the nurses," he told Sarah. "But not on purpose!"

"What?" Sarah said, horrified. Her Sam had attacked someone? She had been so sure they had mislabeled him because the Sam she knew was so gentle, had always been so gentle with her and Lucy and with everyone. Even those who didn't deserve it.

"She snuck up behind him," Dean said. "It was just a reflex."

"A dangerous reflex," Sarah hissed. She dumped the dirty muffin tins in the sink, hating the clatter they made against the dishes already soaking.

"He's not going to hurt his daughter," Dean said. "Sam would never do that."

"Yeah, well, the list of things Sam would never do is growing shorter, isn't it?"

"Why don't you ask him?" Dean said after a minute. Sarah had started washing the dishes and was using great force to clean off last night's silverware. She paused.

"And say what?"

"Ask him if he thinks it's a good idea. You know he loves her and would never put her in harm's way. If he think he's dangerous, he'll tell the truth." Sarah seemed to consider it for a moment, even put down the fork she was working on, but then she shook her head.

"No," she said. "I don't want to ask him that."

"You're going to have to talk to him eventually," Dean said gently.

"Don't tell me what to do," Sarah said but it was with little bitterness and if she had been turned his way, Dean would have seen it because of the hot tears falling from her cheeks into the soapy water below.

xxx

Lucy came home in the afternoon, her Strawberry Shortcake backpack bouncing between her shoulder blades as she ran into the house.

"Where's Dad?" she asked her mother, throwing the backpack onto the ground. Sarah waved at the neighbor's car pulling out of their driveway. She had asked them to keep Lucy for a little longer after her discussion with Dean. She needed time to reconcile with the fact Sam had laid his hands on – and injured – an innocent person. It wasn't him, she kept reminding herself, though those words did little to soothe her nerves.

"He's in our room," Sarah said, picking up the backpack and taking out the clothes from the day before. She threw them down the basement steps to be washed. Lucy's nose wrinkled.

"Is he taking a nap?"

"Something like that," Sarah said. "Why don't you come have a snack?" Lucy followed her mother into the kitchen, still confused.

"Is Dad sick? Is that why he's in his room?"

"Yes," Sarah said. "He's very sick and needs to sleep so we have to be very quiet." She knew Sam wasn't sleeping, knew that he was probably in the bathroom throwing up the chicken broth Dean had forced into him.

"Okay," Lucy whispered, smiling. She liked games and she liked playing them with her mom. "Is Uncle Dean still here?"

"Yes," her mom said, cutting a muffin in half, warming it up in the microwave before spreading strawberry jelly on the two sides. She slid it across the table to her daughter with an extra napkin.

"Mommy, Uncle Dean is weird," Lucy said, licking the jelly off with her tongue. It was sweet and cold against the warmth of the muffin and made her lips sticky.

"No, he's not," Sarah said. "He's just a little different."

"No, he's weird," Lucy said. Sarah smiled. Dean Winchester _was _a little odd and she wasn't surprised her daughter had picked up on it. Just like she wasn't surprised that Lucy wasn't afraid to voice her opinions.

"How is he weird?" she asked, pouring two glasses of chocolate milk.

"Umm," Lucy said, licking a spot of jelly off her palm. "He walks funny. Like all stiff. Not like you or Daddy. And sometimes he looks mad even when he says he's not."

"Uncle Dean has had a hard life," Sarah said. "He didn't grow up in a nice house like you and didn't have a Mommy or Daddy like you do. That's why he's a little different. He's a good person, like the soldiers we saw last weekend. But you should never ever be scared of him, okay?" She waited until Lucy nodded and then gave her the glass of chocolate milk.

"Uncle Dean didn't have a Mommy or Daddy?" Lucy asked.

"He didn't have a Mommy," Sarah said. "But he had Daddy as a brother and he had his own dad. Kinda."

"What do you mean?" Sarah sighed.

"It's complicated."

"Com-pli-cated," Lucy said, sticking a finger out with each syllable. "That has three syllables."

"Yes, it does," Sarah said. "Is that what you learned today?"

Lucy nodded and continued to chatter about her day while working on her muffin and chocolate milk, the subject of Uncle Dean dropped for the moment. For that, Sarah was grateful.

xxx

Like Dean predicted, the withdrawal got worse. Sam spent most of the day like he spent the previous night – on the floor of the bathroom. Dean would have loved to get him outside, try to get his mind off the writhing pain but his brother was in no condition to leave the house, was barely in a condition to get out of bed.

"I think you're getting a fever," Dean said as he felt Sam's forehead. Sam swatted his hand away.

"Get off me."

"Be nice," Dean teased but frowned a moment later. "Let me see what I can give you."

"I don't have a fever," Sam said. "I'm fucking freezing."

"Yeah, okay," Dean said, not listening. "Come on, get up." Sam clambered to his feet, almost hitting his head on the back of the toilet as a wave of dizziness rolled through him. "Easy, champ."

"I swear to God if you don't get your fucking hands off of me," Sam threatened.

"You need to chill the fuck out," Dean threw back. "And watch your mouth." Sam scowled at his brother and seriously thought of throwing a punch but then decided he didn't have enough energy.

Dean refused to let him have an extra blanket even though he was shivering as if his bones were going to vibrate right out of his skin.

"You have a sweatshirt and a comforter," Dean pointed out. "If you have a fever, you can't have too many blankets."

"I don't have a fever," Sam muttered, but curled up on his side. He zoned out as Dean left the room, heard the door click open and shut. He must really be out of it if Dean was leaving him alone. To be honest though, the last thing Sam wanted right now were the pills. In fact, he wasn't ever going to take a pill again in his whole life. Nothing but vitamins for him from here on out.

The door squeaked as it opened again, Sarah had asked him to fix that ages ago.

"I'm not taking any more pills," Sam said, hiding his face under the blanket. A second later, he felt the mattress sink down. Dean was going to try and force feed him. Well, it wasn't going to work. "Dean, get off-."

"I'm not Uncle Dean, silly. I'm Lucy." Small hands pulled at the comforter until it slipped over Sam's face. He groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes.

"Lucy, I don't feel well."

"I know. Mommy said you were sick. Let me check." She laid a hand – sticky with something – against his forehead and Sam flinched away. He wasn't in the mood to be a toy for a child; he wanted Dean and only Dean.

"You feel hot," Lucy said. "You need some medicine." Sam, still covering his eyes against the light, pushed at her hand and was rewarded with cold liquid splashing over his face.

"What the fuck?" he said, scrambling upward, accidentally knocking into Lucy so that she fell backward onto Dean's side of the bed. Sam wiped hurriedly at his face and then noticed that Lucy was holding an empty glass. It was only water.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sliding off the bed. "I just wanted to help you feel better!"

"Lucy?" Dean was back. "What are you doing in here?"

"Daddy's sick," she said, voice trembling and Dean heart sunk when she saw her eyes water. "And he yelled at me. He said a bad word."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, moving to get out of the bed. "I just really don't feel well."

"What's wrong?" Lucy said, taking a step toward her father. He held out a hand and she took it, noticing that it was cold and shaking.

"Just the flu," Sam said, trying to give her a smile. She smiled back and then hugged him around the middle. "Uncle Dean is taking good care of me, don't worry."

"How come Mommy isn't taking care of you like she takes care of me when I get sick?"

"Well, if she was busy then who would take care for you?" Lucy considered this then she leaned in and whispered,

"Mommy said Uncle Dean is nice but I think he's weird." Sam actually laughed, a sound Dean hadn't heard since he'd first seen him in the hospital. He wondered what the little girl had said to her father. Sam winked.

"You're right. But he's my third favorite person in the world."

"After me?"

"That's right. You and Mommy." Sam said. "What do you say you go play and let Dean take care of me?" Lucy frowned but nodded.

"Okay but can I come back later?"

"Sure. Just ask mom first," Sam said. She smiled again and then left, edging around Dean, who was still blocking the doorway. Sam slumped over as soon as she left.

"Need a minute?" Dean said but Sam shook his head.

"No. It's just…hard. Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really cold."

"Okay," Dean said, knowing this meant Sam didn't want to talk anymore. He tucked Sam back in, forced a couple Tylenol down his throat and then sat beside the bed and watched Sam fall into a restless sleep.

So far, so good. So to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, I think I'm pretty invested in this story now. I hope some of you are too. More angst and trouble coming up soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Ugh, the holidays are so busy, but I finally got this done. Hope you like it!

* * *

><p><strong>For I look around me,<strong>  
><strong>And my eyes confound me.<strong>  
><strong>And it's just too bright,<strong>  
><strong>As the days keep turning into night.<strong>  
><strong>"All My Days" –Alexi Murdoch<strong>

Sam couldn't sleep. He wanted to be up and around, pacing, could almost see himself making treads in the carpet, but Dean wouldn't let him.

"Just try to relax," Dean said. Sam glared at him. He was laying on his stomach with a pillow under his chest, another under his face as he tried desperately to relax his seized muscles. They refused to cooperate.

"I can't," Sam insisted. "I want to go out. I want to go for a walk."

"Sam, it's almost midnight. We're not going outside." Sam rolled over onto his back. He was sweating inside his sweatshirt, the fabric clinging to his damp skin and making it itch. He scratched until Dean caught his hand.

"You're going to make yourself bleed," Dean said and when Sam looked down, he saw the welts but couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel much of anything except for how badly his insides wanted to be on the outside.

"Please, Dean," he begged, hating the whine in his voice but unable to control how desperate he sounded. "Please."

Dean licked his lips, still holding onto Sam's clammy wrist. His brother kept breaking out in a cold sweat and he was sure it had something to do with the fever he was still running. Dean was going to call the doctor in the morning but until then…

"How about a bath?"

Sam balked. That was not what he had in mind. He didn't want to be trapped in a porcelain tub, he wanted to be _out. _But then he shifted, drew one leg under the other in a restless motion, and he felt the stickiness of dried and fresh sweat mixed together, could taste it on his lips when his tongue darted out.

"Okay."

Relieved, Dean left to start the water and then came back.

"I can do it myself," Sam said, pushing his brother's hand away when he tried to help. He struggled for a moment to get the sweatshirt off but then it landed on the floor by his feet. In a very un-Dean like move, the older Hunter picked it up and folded it, laying it on the end of the bed.

"Okay He-Man," Dean said. "Let's go." Sam started at the old nickname. He-Man had been Sam's favorite cartoon when he was little and the action figure replica of the childhood hero had been carried to countless motel rooms for years. Dean had started calling him the nickname when he found five year old Sammy flexing in the front of the TV, mirroring the actual He-Man on TV. Sam didn't know Dean remembered stuff like that.

The water in the tub wasn't even halfway to the top but Sam lowered himself into it anyway, gasping at the unexpected temperature.

"It's fucking freezing," he said. Dean shook his head.

"It's tepid. It's good for a fever."

"It's like the Arctic," Sam argued.

"Your body thinks that because of the fever. You'll get used to it." Sam knew better than to keep going; Dean was using the voice that meant shut up and get over it.

"What are you doing?" Dean had knelt beside the tub and was now stripping off his flannel to reveal a navy blue t-shirt underneath.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said. His words had picked up a no-nonsense, almost procedural tone. "Bobby would say you're as weak as a kitten right now."

"Bobby isn't here," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes but dipped a pink plastic cup into the water, filling it up.

"Found the bath toys under the sink," he said, voice growing gentler. "Thought I'd help you out."

"Dean…"

"Shh," Dean said, pouring the water from the cup over Sam's back. His brother's skin trembled but he didn't try to move away or resist. Dean kept pouring until all of Sam was glistening. The light above was reflected on Sam's left shoulder blade, turning the skin white. For a few minutes, there was no other sound in the bathroom besides their breathing and the slosh of water on water.

"Lean forward," Dean said, pushing a palm against Sam's back. Like a child, Sam acquiesced and bent, allowing Dean full access to his back. He actually groaned a bit when Dean started sweeping large circles over his back with a sponge laden with body wash, watching the tiny white bubbles swirl over Sam's pale skin.

"Feels good, huh?" Dean said. "You probably don't remember but I used to do this all the time. You used to love baths."

"I remember," Sam said, voice deep. It was the first time since Dean had seen him that he sounded relaxed. His hair had darkened now that it was wet and hung around his face, shielding it from Dean's view. "You used to play pirate ship with me."

"You were Blackbeard and I was your first mate," Dean said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in memory. "You were a pretty sneaky pirate, if I remember correctly. Used to try to negotiate bedtime by bribing me with candy." Sam let out a single bark of laughter and Dean started rinsing him off, using the same pink cup to let streams of water wash away the soap. It gathered in the tub below, creating a white film over the water. Sam reached out a palm and placed it flat on the water, watching the bubbles cling to his callouses, loving the silkiness.

"Now you're hair," Dean said. "Tilt your head back." Again, Sam cooperated and tilted his head, letting Dean's fingers sweep it back and away from his face. The water and soap had softened his brother's skin and the touch felt good, to Sam's surprise.

"You used to hate having your hair washed," Dean commented a minute later, massaging the shampoo into Sam's scalp. He was up on his knees now and concentrating on the task in front of him so he didn't see the way Sam's eyes closed in pleasure.

"Dunno why," Sam grunted. "Feels good."

Dean smiled.

The bath lasted another ten minutes or so and then Sam was standing up and had a green towel wrapped around him. Fearful of the slippery tile, Dean helped him out of the bathtub and onto the carpet of the bedroom before allowing him to dry off. He found a fresh pair of pajamas in the dresser and turned away as Sam dressed himself.

"Thanks," Sam said when he was back on the bed. "You were really good at that."

"Had a lot of practice," Dean said. "Here, let's take your temp again."

Dean only pursed his lips when he read the numbers on the screen but Sam couldn't bring himself to care what they said. He knew that Dean was going to take care of him no matter what and that he didn't have to worry anymore. His big brother was watching.

xxx

When Sam's fever refused to go down the next morning, Dean called the doctor and then hung up the phone, a paper in his hand.

"We're going out," he announced to Sam who was sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling on the smallest piece of toast Dean had found in the loaf.

"We are?"

"To the pharmacy. Gotta pick up your new meds." Sam's expression turned from surprised to disgusted.

"I don't want anymore meds. I'm already taking enough to be qualified as a senior citizen."

"I thought you wanted to go out," Dean reminded him. "That's what you kept saying last night. Plus, the doctor said you should be out and about by now, at least a little. It's supposed ot help." Sam scowled at his breakfast but didn't say anything else.

"She looks good," he said half an hour later when they made their way outside to the Impala. Dean grinned and patted the hood.

"I treat her well and she treats me well," he said, slipping into the driver's side and turning the key in the ignition.

At the pharmacy, Dean gave Sam's name and then was told they had to wait an extra ten minutes for the prescription to be verified.

"Why?" Dean asked. "The doctor called it in half an hour ago. He said it would be ready by now."

"Sam Winchester is on a list that prohibits us giving him medicine without additional clearance."

"Right," Dean said. "We'll be back then."

Sam followed him out the door, not looking guilty or sorry or even upset.

"Let's go this way," Sam said and this time it was Dean who followed his little brother, down the street lined with small shops until they reached a bridge. Sam moved to the right of the bridge and started walking along the bank, the grass grown high and brushing at his calves as he moved. The confident steps he took were so different than the tottering ones at home and Dean had to wonder if it was the atmosphere of the house that was crippling Sam as much as the withdrawal. Now, walking a few steps behind him, Dean could hardly tell how much his brother was suffering, maybe not even at all. Then Sam turned and Dean saw the dark smudges against his ashen skin, the way his eyes were glazed.

"Don't trip," Sam said, pointing down.

Too late, Dean's foot connected with something solid and he caught himself just in time, looking down. Below him was a train track, burnt orange with rust, long past being of any use. He followed the track with his eyes, noting how the grass had grown in between the slats and the gravel spewed over the sides of the tracks.

"I bring Lucy here," Sam said. "I mean, I used to."

"It's nice," Dean said and he meant it. The river was quiet and the riverside occupants had planted garden along the banks so the flowers were vibrant against the backwash of blue.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, pushing his hair back with one hand. "I'm sorry about all this."

"I know," Dean said.

"It was just so easy," Sam said. "They just kinda quieted everything."

"What was so loud?" Dean asked, watching his brother stare out at the slow churning river. There had been rain lately and the waters near the bank were muddy. A plastic bag was floating nearby, caught on a branch that had fallen into the water.

"Everything," Sam said. "Just…everything."

"Hey, we'll get through it, okay?" Dean said, moving a step closer. He didn't like the brooding look Sam was wearing, the way his face had aged in those few moments of confession, the lines around his mouth cutting deep into his skin.

"You don't know," Sam said, his hands now jammed into his pockets. His feet were moving to, just an inch or two at a time, shifting in all directions until he looked as if he were dancing, when really Dean knew his brother just couldn't stand still.

"What don't I know?"

"Anything!" Sam said, almost cried. "You don't know anything. How it all builds up in my head and then Sarah's there and she doesn't know and Lucy – she's just so small and I've killed so many people and if she knew-." He tore in a ragged gasp, panting. Dean took a deep breath.

"Sam. This is the withdrawal talking. You know that."

"Is it?" Sam's hazel eyes were wild and searching as they focused on his brother and Dean wanted to reach for him, to snatch Sam up to him and hold him close. If he could do that then maybe he could save his brother from all of this, save him from the all the things the past had brought and the future would bring.

Instead, he waited.

"Dean, I'm losing it," Sam let out a laugh that wasn't a laugh at all. "I mean, God, my wife can't stand to be around me, you're stuck looking after me again. I fucked up. I keep fucking up. I'm never going to get better."

"Alright," Dean said. "Calm down. First of all, I'm not stuck doing anything. I'm a grown up and I make my own decisions. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be. I'd be off ganking some monster in Erie, Pennsylvania. You know that about me."

"Dad said-,"

"Dad said I had to look after you? Sam, that was years ago. Sam, look at me, hey, look at me bud. _Years _ago. You don't need looking after. I'm here to help because I want to, not because anyone is making me."

Sam nodded but Dean wasn't all that sure he had gotten through. Sam's hands were twisting in front of him, nervous.

"And Sarah will come around in time. You did fuck up _but _that's what people do. I've done it, Dad did it, hell, Sarah's done it. We're human, we fuck up, it's what we do."

"I'm not human." It was little more than a whisper and the last word was choked. His hands moved faster in front of him.

"Yes, you are," Dean said firmly. He finally took a step closer to Sam, relieved when he didn't flinch or take a step away. The hazel eyes were bright with unshed tears and Sam was looking skyward, taking in the gray clouds above as if they held the answers to questions he couldn't bring himself to ask.

"Dean, it's still in me," Sam said. "It's always going to be in me. I can't forget Ruby or -"

"You needing it again?" Dean asked. Sam didn't stop staring at the sky, didn't even blink, just let out a shuddering breath.

"I always need it. But those pills…they dull it, keep it away."

Dean's heart thumped loudly and he tried to keep it from sinking, tried to breathe normally. He could handle addict-Sam and desperate-Sam and even angry-Sam but Dean didn't know if he had it in him to go another round with demon blood-Sam. The seizures and the hallucinations, the unconscious streaks where his brother wouldn't wake up for days, even a week at a time. He didn't want to see Sam struggle like that again.

"Let's go pick up your meds," Dean said after a minute and he reached out and tugged Sam's sleeve. The younger man shook his head as if dazed and then followed Dean without a sound, not saying another word the entire way home.

Sam remained quiet for the rest of the day. He resisted only for a moment when Dean tried to give him his meds and then allowed Dean to seat him on the couch in front of the TV. They watched a baseball game for an hour when Dean noticed Sam beginning to fall asleep sitting up. Taking advantage of this, he ushered his brother back to bed, determined to make him get as much sleep as possible.

The doctor hadn't been happy with the fever. Detox fevers were dangerous, he told Dean over the phone that morning. They meant a potential infection was brewing and that Sam should get as much rest as he could, not an easy thing to do with his muscles rattling inside him.

"Dean," Sam called out, as Dean stepped away from the bed, about to turn out the light.

"Right here."

"Where are you going?"

"Just to turn off the light, see? There, that's better. Try to get some sleep, Sam."

"I'm not tired," Sam mumbled with his eyes closed and Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Okay."

"Talk to me," Sam said as he shifted in the bed, drawing the blankets tighter around him. "Like when we were little." Dean took a seat in the chair beside the bed and pried off his boots.

"So you want to hear about how you're going to kick this withdrawal in the ass?" he said, voice soft. "Well, you are. You're going to get over this god-awful part and we're going to move on. It's going to be hard but you're going to do it because you're Sam Winchester and Sam Winchester doesn't let anything take him down. After all this, you're going to be even stronger than you were before."

The tired crease between Sam's eyebrows smoothed out as he slipped out of consciousness but Dean didn't stop talking.

"And then you're going to watch your little girl grow up and you're going to walk her down the aisle of her wedding and you're going to watch her have kids of her own. Every school play, every dance recital, you're going to be in the front row because this isn't the end of you. The pills didn't get you. Maybe someday we'll move to the mountains, all of us. And we'll live there for the rest of our lives and fish and make our own canoe and that'll be it for the good old Winchesters."

Dean didn't believe a word he was saying but he couldn't stop himself. He could see it all in his mind, the future sprawled out in front of him like a map on a cartographer's desk. Sam needed to hear and it and maybe Dean did too. It was what was going to get him through the next few weeks. Because he was worried; Sam was rough shape, he could see that. The confession by the river today had shed light on the dark corners of Sam's mind where his brother was living these days, not a place Dean was convinced he could keep pulling Sam from.

Dean was worried that, just like the abandoned train tracks they had walked earlier, his brother was going nowhere.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **There's that good old angst coming up again. Things are starting to get a bit intense! What'd you think?


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